Luna

Two weeks after Milena was born, my dad flew in from New York to meet her and celebrate Christmas with us. As he held her in his arms for the first time, cooing and introducing himself as her Papa, he looked up at Daniel and me and asked if we wanted to have another. Sleep deprived and mildly irritated, I scoffed, “Not anytime soon!” As thrilled as I was from having a successful VBAC at home, it wasn’t something I felt emotionally or physically prepared to repeat.

A little over a year later, my family flew to New York to spend Micah’s Spring Break visiting my dad and sister, Lena. We spent the day together hanging out in Dad’s Williamsburg apartment. Micah and Lena built a “Papa” snowman on his terrace with blueberries for eyes, bushy eyebrows, and male pattern hair loss. We went out for dinner at a favorite restaurant. We took the subway home, a much-loved pastime for my son, and climbed the steep stairs to the street. About halfway to his apartment, Dad stopped abruptly, said he felt dizzy, put his arm around me, took a few deep breaths and collapsed. He stopped breathing, Daniel called 911, and I attempted to give CPR with the help of a stranger until paramedics arrived. He was resuscitated but never regained consciousness and died several hours later in a Brooklyn hospital. He had suffered a massive heart attack. We didn’t even know he was sick.

So what does any of that have to do with Luna’s birth? A lot, actually. Daniel and I had been playfully discussing the possibility of a third baby for several months prior to my dad’s death, however I felt strongly that it wouldn’t be realistic unless we were bringing in an additional $1,000/month of income. Reluctant to give up my role as a stay-at-home mom, I started researching part-time, work-from-home opportunities. These ranged from teaching private piano or violin lessons to selling crafts on Etsy. Ultimately, I didn’t feel ready to commit myself to being partially employed in addition to the demands of my children.

When my dad passed away, my sister and I became the beneficiaries of his estate and the additional income became available. Another baby became a real possibility, but now I wasn’t sure I was ready. I wrestled hard with the idea that my dad had to die for us to be able to grow our family. It just seemed unfair. I couldn’t imagine bringing another child into this world that would never know his or her Papa Lew. Then I would reflect back to the Christmas visit shortly after Mila’s birth and be reminded that Dad always saw us with more kids. I knew he wouldn’t want me to stunt our family just because he wasn’t here.

As we considered one substantial life change, we agreed on another. Daniel and I had always dreamed of settling in New Mexico. With my inheritance, we finally had the means to do so. An imminent move complicated plans for a third baby. I did not want to move while heavily pregnant or with a newborn. Our window to get pregnant and deliver with enough wiggle room to relocate somewhat comfortably was small, about 2-3 months. Waiting until we were in New Mexico seemed like the smarter choice, but I couldn’t shake the strong desire to use the same birth team that helped me navigate my first VBAC. I felt safe with them. I had confidence that I could do this with them. They knew my history. They knew me at my most vulnerable. They were my good luck charms. So I turned to them for advice.

I called my previous Midwife, Sandra, and Doula, Amanda, immediately bursting into tears from the comfort of their voices. I told them about my dad’s death, our finances, the move, and the desire to have another baby with them at my side. I asked them to level with me about whether a pregnancy and new baby would be one too many big life changes in such a short period of time. I received two very different, but equally helpful answers. I left those conversations encouraged to have faith in my own human resilience, and sensibly reminded to wait if we didn’t conceive within the window – that my body would and could birth no matter where or with whom we delivered. Again, Daniel and I stopped “not trying” and figured we’d see what the universe had in store for our family. I was pregnant the following month.

For the third time, I had a sense I was pregnant before taking a test. When I stretched or turned over in bed too quickly, I would feel a muscular pulling in my lower abdomen that I’d only experienced twice before. On Father’s Day, I surprised Daniel with a card from Micah, Mila and Baby #3 along with a positive pregnancy test. I shared the news with Sandra and Amanda, booking them immediately for another home birth. Calculating the due date, this baby would come sometime in late February or early March. This was within the timeframe we had planned, however, I hadn’t prepared myself for the possibility of giving birth sometime on or between my dad’s birthday and death date. I wondered if we had made a mistake – if I was emotionally strong enough to handle a birth during that time of year. I waded through the anxiety by focusing on how timely a distraction this baby could be.

Again, my pregnancy was relatively uneventful. Other than awful “all-day sickness” and frequent round ligament pain, it seemed to fly by. I was thoroughly distracted caring for my other kids, volunteering for a nonprofit corporation, co-executing my dad’s estate, and preparing my home for Daniel’s mom and grandma to move in with us so we could all head west together the following summer. All that aside, I did my best to be present and connect with this baby in the same way I had done before. I looked forward to my prenatal check-ups at home with Sandra, tried and failed, and tried again to maintain a consistent healthy diet and exercise routine, and had three adjustments with Dr. Long in my last trimester. Since I had VBAC’d before, there was significantly less fear around my body’s ability to birth, but I was still anxious about when this baby would arrive, how long labor might be, and how I would cope with the pain.

This time we decided to keep the gender a surprise. We already had one of each, so I figured it would be fun and more exciting to not know until baby was in my arms. It drove my friends and family crazy – especially because we continued our custom of not sharing baby’s name until birth as well. As much as I didn’t want to care, I found myself obsessed with trying to figure it out. I would analyze sonograms – even though the technicians had taken great care to keep the secret – take old wives’ tales gender predictors, compare calendars – but it all kept me guessing. I would dream it was a boy, and then I would dream it was a girl, then a boy, then a girl – then TWINS. Whatever intuition I did have was telling me this was another boy, but by the last month of my pregnancy I would have bet money that it was a girl. Literally every other pregnant woman I knew was expecting a boy and I became convinced that the odds were high I was carrying a girl.

Some unexpected feels came along with this realization, and I was ashamed to share them. I love my daughter, Mila, but she is TOUGH. She does’t like to sleep, throws epic tantrums, screams in the car – all things I didn’t experience with my son. I unfairly pegged these behaviors on her gender and was secretly hoping for another easy boy. I became more and more anxious about the possibility that we would have another girl and finally spilled my crazy to Sandra and Amanda. Both of them were so loving and kind. They helped me get to the root of the fear – which really had nothing to do with gender at all – and we came up with a plan to wait a few minutes to check the gender after baby was born. I didn’t want to spoil that moment by focusing on such an insignificant detail.

February was around the corner and I was scrambling to get my shit together. I was desperately trying to tie up loose ends with Dad’s estate, but ultimately had to back-burner most of it to focus on baby’s upcoming arrival. I stress-nested over a weekend and got the crib set up, clothes organized, and bedroom cleared of anything I didn’t want to labor around. Almost immediately after these tasks were complete, I noticed a significant up-tick in Braxton Hicks contractions. They were stronger and more frequent than anything I had experienced in my other pregnancies but remained high and inconsistent. They became an expected part of daily life and while I was prepared to go to 42 weeks again, I took it as a sign that I might go into labor closer to my estimated due date.

My friends prepared another beautiful blessingway for me and I felt as ready as I was going to be. I had an appointment scheduled with Dr. Long three days before my due date. I seriously considered asking her to gently induce me with acupressure, but at the last minute decided against it. I just couldn’t rationalize intervening yet. My body had done this on its own before and it would do it again.

We celebrated my dad’s birthday two days later. No baby. The following day was my 40-week due date. Daniel left early that morning to play softball and I relaxed at home with the kids. When he returned I asked him to take a few maternity photos of me since I didn’t know how much longer I would be pregnant. I shared them and wrote the following:

Dear Threepetey,

Today is your estimated due date, which, based on my experience with “Petey” & “Repetey,” means absolutely nothing. Just want you to know that we’re excited to meet you, find out who you are, and learn how you will balance our growing family. We’re waiting patiently for you to choose your birthday.

That evening my Braxton Hicks contractions seemed stronger and more consistent than they had been. Typically I only noticed them when I was in the car or out shopping, but I was feeling these at home in my rocking chair. I even found myself breathing through a few, but most were ignorable. I checked in with my birth team but assured them that this couldn’t be the real thing. I compared how I was feeling to my labor with Mila and knew I was nowhere close. Early labor with her lasted for days – and it was painful. This was not that. Amanda asked me if I was timing the contractions and if there was any kind of pattern. She mentioned that her husband was out of town and she would need to secure childcare. I told her I would start timing but didn’t think there was anything to worry about. Several contractions later, I realized there was a pattern: every 13 minutes or so, lasting 45 seconds. I relayed this information to my team, still insisting that I felt fine. Amanda suggested that I take a bath and see if that would calm things down. Sandra asked me to check in again before going to bed.

Daniel and I got the kids to sleep and went about our normal routine of picking up the house and prepping for the following school day. He ran a bath for me and I spent the next hour relaxing in the tub, timing contractions. Frequency and duration remained about the same and I was experiencing very little discomfort, if any. I decided to try to go to bed, just in case labor was imminent. I checked in with my team one last time, telling them I expected to get a good night’s rest and would check in with them in the morning.

I tossed and turned for about an hour, still aware of but mostly ignoring the contractions. I dozed off here and there, but would wake to more intense tightening. Contractions were coming quicker and getting painful, still only lasting 45 seconds. I decided to get back in the bath and agonized over what to do. My denial was thick. I texted my mom to let her know what was going on, and argued with her when she suggested I was in active labor. I kept my team updated and was prepared to reach out again if a more favorable, consistent pattern developed. An hour and a half later, I got back into bed, knowing how important rest would be – especially if this was the beginning of another multi-day labor. By 2:00 AM I was vocalizing low tones. Daniel was lying beside me, rubbing my back and breathing through each contraction along with me. Frequency rapidly increased to every 3-5 minutes but duration remained anywhere from 15-45 seconds. I believed I still had a long way to go and was desperately trying to make it until morning without bothering anyone. I couldn’t rest through the pain anymore and decided to move to the bathroom where I could stand and sway, squat, or get back in the bath. I started having dry heaves and relayed this to my birth team. Contractions started coming every 1-2 minutes, lasting 30-60 seconds. I was beside myself. They were on top of each other and I couldn’t get a break in between. I did my best to surrender to the pain – letting the contractions feel heavy and strong, allowing baby to sink low into the pelvis instead of lifting and avoiding the pressure. Daniel stood behind me as I leaned over the bathroom sink, applying counter-pressure to my hips and laughing softly as each contraction ended with me groaning, “this sucks.” I finally accepted that I was in labor and lit my blessingway candle.

Sandra and Amanda were on their way when another intense contraction hit me. There was a familiar sensation at the peak where I lost control and every muscle in my body clenched. I was pushing. This scared me. Either I was having the urge to push way too early, or I was further along than I thought was remotely possible. Amanda arrived at 3:30 AM and gave me one of her strong, comforting hugs. Every time I would try to fill her in, we would be interrupted by another contraction. I begged her to tell me why they were coming so quickly, without any time to recover. She implied that it could be a positional issue and wanted to try abdominal lift and tucks for 10 contractions, a technique that helped encourage baby to engage in the pelvis. I wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but knew it would help move things along – even if it meant more intense pressure. She stood behind me, linked her fingers together under my belly, lifted and pulled my belly in – holding me there throughout the contraction before gently releasing. Sandra arrived as we were wrapping up the cycle of 10 contractions. The spacing was slightly more manageable, but it was still a struggle not to bear down during the peaks.

I continued to labor, leaning over the bathroom sink. Sandra stooped to the floor, prepared to check my cervix. I held my breath, anticipating news of slow progress. She looked up at me and said, “You’re 9! There’s a cervical lip, but your cervix is thin and stretchy. You’re almost ready to have this baby.” I sighed with happy relief and could not believe I had progressed so far without more support. Sandra began setting up her birth supplies. Amanda drew a bath and suggested I get back in the water. Daniel called Blue, our Birth Photographer, told her I was close and that she should come as soon as possible.

I had planned a water birth in my living room, but because I was so far along there wasn’t time to set up and fill the birth pool. We decided to stay in the bathroom and deliver there. This was for the best since the kids and my in-laws were asleep and unaware of all the activity. I labored in the bath and enjoyed intermittent chats with my team between contractions. We noted that it was a full moon, and that the last bud on my orchid plant had opened. Blue arrived, skillfully and inconspicuously jumping in to document the birth.

Time went on and I became increasingly uncomfortable. It was almost impossible to resist pushing. My voice became shrill and I shrieked as I fought against the pain. Both Sandra and Amanda were at my side, coaching me through the moments where I didn’t think I could keep going. Sandra checked me again and the lip was still there. She recommended trying to manually hold it back during contractions since I was having such a hard time not pushing. We did this during Mila’s birth for the same reason and it was extremely effective. We tried for several contractions, but this time it didn’t seem to work as well. Sandra and Amanda advised that I switch up positions: hands and knees, squatting, anything other than laying in the tub. I was really resistant to moving at all, but made the effort anyway. After a few exhausting contractions I was back to lying in the tub, questioning why this baby wouldn’t just come out. Sandra asked Daniel to start setting up the birth pool – that I might be more comfortable if I had more room and deeper water. A few contractions later I felt a pop. My water broke. Sandra confirmed that the fluid looked clear. After 45 minutes total of laboring in the bath, Amanda suggested I get up and try to pee. I reluctantly stood up and got one leg out of the bath. My other knee was on the side of the tub when a particularly strong contraction hit. My body bore down. Sandra was below me, ready to catch if necessary. The contraction passed, I gathered my strength and hobbled to the toilet.

As soon as I sat down, another series of incapacitating contractions overwhelmed me. I pushed with everything I had. Minutes later baby was crowning. That ring of fire was intense, but I was encouraged to breathe and let it burn to avoid tearing. I frantically asked someone to get Daniel. He rushed in, leaving the birth pool up-ended and partially inflated. Baby’s head was out and I had a brief moment to touch it before my body clenched again. Worry and fear flooded my mind as I realized that I was about to have a baby on the toilet. I instinctually stood up as baby’s shoulders passed and the rest of the body was born into Sandra’s waiting arms. I sat down as Sandra handed me my new, perfect little baby. We were all stunned and couldn’t believe how quickly it all happened. When I was ready, I looked my baby over and announced that we had another little girl. She was born at 4:57 AM on Monday, February 22, at 6 pounds 14 ounces and 21.5 inches long, after only 5 hours of active labor. Her birthday followed my dad’s by just two days. We named her Luna Harper, a subtle reference to my dad’s name and mom’s profession. She was beautiful. Any remaining anxiety I had about gender disappeared as I looked into her eyes and held her tiny fingers.

I sat there for a few minutes, new baby in my arms, reflecting on all that had just taken place. I found myself wondering if things would have gone differently if I had admitted I was in labor sooner, or if I had been more willing to change positions in the bath. I had my heart set on another water birth, but lying in that tub wasn’t doing me or baby any favors. I began to suspect that Amanda’s suggestion to go pee was a Jedi mind trick to get me to stand up and allow gravity to do its thing… It worked! Delivering over the toilet may not have been what I dreamed for this birth, but that toilet was the catalyst that helped me meet my daughter – much sooner than any of us could have anticipated. I knew then, firsthand, why many birth professionals call it the “dilation station.”

We moved back to the tub where I could recover and deliver my placenta. Daniel shared the news with family and closest friends. My mom was thrilled and said she would jump in the car and head over. Daniel cut Luna’s umbilical cord, then scooped her into his arms and introduced the newest grandbaby to his mom and grandma – who were stirring from all the postpartum commotion. Amanda helped me out of the tub for a quick shower before I climbed into bed and nursed Luna for the first time. This quiet, private recovery time, in my own bed, made every challenging second of that home birth worth it. I looked around the room at the amazing team of women who had loved and supported me through it all and felt like I would never be able to thank them enough.

Mila woke up around 6:00 AM and I could hear her calling for us over the monitor. Daniel went to tend to her and Micah while I continued to rest and nurse Luna. My mom walked in a short time later and excitedly spilled the beans to the kids who were, up until that point, completely unaware of their new sibling’s arrival. The joy coming from the living room was palpable. The grandmas gleefully greeted each other – marveling over the fact that I went into labor and had a baby while everyone slept. The kids were squealing with delight, eager to meet their baby sister. Daniel led everyone into the bedroom and my eyes welled up as my son, my first-born, approached with the broadest expression of love on his face. Micah gave me a kiss and gently stroked the top of Luna’s head, sweetly cooing, “She’s so cute” over and over. Mila was equally elated and could be heard squawking, “A baby, a baby” through the house for the rest of the day. We had some precious moments together as a family of five before sending Micah off to school – proudly clutching a copy of Luna’s footprints for show and tell.

In the following days, I received more congratulatory messages than I could count. Several friends noted how quickly this baby came – especially compared to my first VBAC at home – and expressed how happy they were that I had a fast and easy birth. HA! More like, fast and furious. Even though I was essentially able to ignore early labor this time, active labor proved to be just as difficult. In many ways, this labor seemed more intense since everything was condensed into a few hours rather than spread out over several days. Even for a second time, home birth remains the hardest thing I have ever done. And despite that fact, I have no regrets and would do it again.

Two weeks later, it was the one-year anniversary of my dad’s passing. I had been dreading this day all year, and now that it was here I found myself feeling unexpectedly at peace. My early pregnancy intuition that this baby might be a welcome distraction was correct. I spent the day nursing Luna in bed, watching my dad’s yahrzeit candle burn next to important keepsakes that make me think of him. I looked at his namesake, nestled against my chest, and cried tears of gratitude as one thing became abundantly clear: this birth was a blessing – a blessing that brought light to an otherwise dark time.